Lenses
by Fourth in Command Cixalea Jwan
Summary: Arthur, Francis, Alfred, Matthew, and Peter are running away. From living in a car to dining and ditching, their journey is recounted from their individual perspectives -through the lenses they use to distort how they view the world. Human!AU. Platonic!FACES-centric. No pairings. Looking forward to it.
1. The Pirate King

This is an AU that I've been hanging on to for a while. Figure I might as well post it considering I haven't done anything with it for a long time. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidakaz.

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><p>Arthur was a Pirate King. He flew his own colours proudly and ruled the land he lived in. He was a ruthless commander who expected nothing but obedience from his subjects. He had no qualms about dishing out lashings or locking them in the dungeons. He had the gait of a royal, but the sway of a sea dog; the smarts of a noble, and the cunning of a thief. Arthur was a Pirate King.<p>

A transport vessel puttered into the port of a fast food restaurant. Its rigging was tangled and its tires sagged, but this sight promised gold to the Pirate King peering at it through a sea-salt crusted spyglass.

He continued to watch as the crew of the S.S. Minivan ducked out. The kids that were on board spanned a horizon of ages from three to later teens and each one looked at the restaurant with hunger in their eyes -drawn toward the bright atmosphere and mouth-watering smell as to a siren singing them to their doom. It was clear they hadn't made port for several hours.

The bleary-eyed captain and first mate lumbered out next to corral their whiny cabin-boys and cabin-girls to the bored cashier inside the establishment. Within the swarm of children, the parentages did not notice the particular young teen enter behind them and join nonchalantly to stand amongst their own motley crew. He was quiet and milled about within the crowd of kids in perfect camouflage doing no harm and therefore not drawing any specific attention to himself despite his emerald eyes, unusually thick brows, and royal heritage.

As the kids rotated through the line, placing their order then sitting down in the largest booth, aforementioned teen did not order anything for himself. Instead, he moved to stand beside the register and waited patiently.

The cashier could have noticed how this gold-blond sailor didn't give his food order or even look much like the other children he entered with. The uniformly brunette kids with brown eyes matched an energized version of their parents' weary orbs which made it certainly look as if the loitering blond was not a part of this set, but, who was the cashier to judge?

The teen held in a dry laugh at the irony that he didn't even really match his real siblings either, being the only one in the crew without a variation of their blue eyes. That was one of the many reasons his oldest brother called him the black sheep. The Pirate King did, however, have blond hair like they did. At least that was unwavering.

When the minimum wage, mostly teenaged employees of the fast food port's night shift finally bagged up all the food, the odd-browed teen accepted it with itching hands. Having completed their job and not particularly caring who got the food, the worker handed him the hefty amount of steaming paper bags.

The teen insisted on carrying everything in one trip without a tray, despite the obvious ease a tray would have afforded him. Once all the warm food was balanced in his arms, he turned around and began to walk.

He shot a glance back at the family the innocent bystanders grouped him with to make sure the captain and first mate were still busied with their opulent amount of offspring. They were plenty busy, and the soda-dispensing machine conveniently sat between their line of vision to the door. Confirming this, the Pirate King, as quick as it was possible to still maintain stealth, pushed out the side door and briskly walked into the darkness.

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><p>He didn't know how late it was, but he'd been out longer than he'd hoped. As he walked alongside the roads, he felt his stomach growl out in testimony that <em>it<em> had been begrudgingly keeping track of the time even when the brain didn't. He hoped that his crew had just gone to sleep instead of waiting around for him. He'd had to venture farther than normal because he'd been exhausting the more local taverns. The Pirate King made it a point not to redeem the five-finger discount at the same place twice.

The green-eyed teen felt a slight pang of Guilt for his robbery as he always did, but the feeling was soon gagged and punted promptly off a cliff to be replaced by its ever-superior and more-agreeable stepbrother, Apathy. He finally approached the car that sat skirting the shadows of a park's parking lot.

The Pirate King's ship was tested with time as barnacles clung to her underside and gull droppings peppered the deck. Okay, in reality, it was an absolute rust bucket and sounded like it was trying to imitate a large chainsaw when running, but, hey, it had a roof and four doors and did run when there was petrol in it, despite how scant little of it they could pour into it at a time. He was a King, but this vehicle was not obtained by means of the royal treasury. (Really, his blood and title were the only things he could use to prove his nobility.) This car was certainly pirated.

He kicked lightly on the side of the door, rust and sea salt flaking off, and a daffodil-blond with shoulder-length hair popped up from the reclined driver's seat. His powder-blue eyes were panicked as he looked out the side window to the looming figure but calmed as he saw a familiar face. His eyes widened and his thin lips pulled into a smile as he saw what the emerald-eyed boy was carrying. Leaning over the sleeping form in the passenger's seat, he pulled up the latch and unlocked the passenger's door.

The Pirate King walked around and boarded on the starboard side. Sticking his arms into the depths of the vehicle, he waved the bags around, letting the scent jolt the rest of the sleeping boys awake from their bunks.

Two almost-identical also-blond heads sprouted up from behind the passenger's seat like dolphins, a more sunshine-blond on the right and a pale-blond on the left. The one occupying the passenger seat, the youngest cabin boy, was slower to wake up, but he brushed the pure-blond hair out of his sea-blue eyes to have his jaw drop at the miracle that was the enormity of the food bagged before him. Wordlessly, he moved over to give room to the new arrival: the one bearing the loot. He would surrender his seat any day if anyone came brandishing that much food at him. The Pirate King slid into the seat and shut the door to keep in the heat.

Arthur passed a bag to each of his blond and blue-eyed shipmates without discretion as to what was actually inside. He was afraid if he held the bags too long, his dear kin might tear him apart like the wild dogs they seemed to be subconsciously imitating –drool and all. He had spent more time in port than he anticipated.

"Omahgosth! This isth still warm! Fank you, Arthy!" One of the twins behind him exclaimed.

"Alfred, don't talk with your mouth full. That's disgusti…"

He was interrupted by coughing erupting from Alfred's twin.

"Matthew! Chew your food for goodness sake! You're almost as bad as Alfred!"

Matthew, the paler twin, coughed viciously for a few more seconds as he eventually pulled a hair out of his mouth that was, ghastly as it was, still attached to his head.

"Are you alright?" The oldest blond that sat in the driver's seat turned around, his concern showed on his creased brows as the coughing started to sound serious for a moment there.

"I'm, I'm fine. I just…tried to swallow my curl on accident." Referring to the now wet and gross hair that bobbed off Matthew's forehead which was the soft-spoken boy's hallmark characteristic.

Laughter ripped through the small car.

Alfred probably would have started choking as well if there was food in his mouth.

"Seriously, dude? That's hilarious! Hahahaha!"

"I didn't mean to. I was just eating really, really fast, and it got…caught." He blushed as he began to eat slower, learning his lesson.

Arthur, the one who painstakingly procured all the food, face-palmed, but did add a few chuckles of his own to the chorus of laughter that the siblings made together.

"Is there any more?" The youngest brother, about three, looked to the Pirate King with sea-blue eyes, full of innocence.

Arthur couldn't say 'no' when Peter did the Face. Peter had a certain soft spot in all his older brothers' hearts that he exploited mercilessly with his pudgy cheeks and naïve smile –in combination, it was called the Face.

Sighing, the scruffy sailor offered up the remainder of his fries. The boy grasped them up eagerly, beaming with all thanks he forgot to utter in his smile. Arthur made a mental note to scold him about manners later.

Francis, the elder of his _frères_, gave Arthur a teasing smirk as he saw how easily Peter manipulated the fearsome Pirate King. Arthur's thick brows drove down into an all too familiar angle as he cocked his head and rolled his eyes with a silent yet sassy retort. He'd witnessed plenty of times when Francis had fallen victim to Peter's Face, but he had never-the-less given his older brother ammo to use against him when he tried to keep up his reputation of being the strong, discipliner of the bunch.

Within moments, all five boys had consumed their pilfered meals. Although, Arthur never told his younger brothers that he got most of their food through piracy and raids. He intended to raise them to be upstanding citizens, but they were just in a little bit of a pinch right now. Once they got out of this slump, he swore to himself the Pirate King would retire his title. It was just… his crew was hungry _now, _and, even though both he and Francis were technically old enough to work part-time, they didn't have the necessary papers to do so. He was doing what he could.

"Oh! No fair! Mattie got a toy in his bag!"

Matthew, twin B, held a small, plastic Captain America toy in his hands. Alfred, twin A, must have been regretting his decision to grab for the bigger bag which probably held more food instead of the smaller, more-colorful bag which probably held a toy.

"Mattie! Let me see it!" Alfred begged, trying his best to use his version of the Face. Only his wasn't super effective like Peter's. He just came off as annoying.

"No! It's mine!" Matthew kept the toy out of Alfred's reach.

"But I only want to see it for a second!"

"No! It was in _my_ bag! It's _my_ toy!"

Arthur dug around under the wrappers of his own bag and found a plastic toy there as well. He threw it at Alfred, making sure to knock him on the head with it. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was whining.

"Ow! Hey! What was –Ooh!" Alfred quickly forgot he was mad at Arthur for hitting him on the head for a moment, but only a moment, as he was disappointed once more.

"See! Now you have your own toy." Matt huffed, hoping he'd finally be left alone.

"But I don't want _this one!_ This is the _girl_ one!"

"What's wrong with Black Widow?"

"Well, girl toys are for _girls!"_

"Then you have the right toy then, eh?" Matthew snickered, barely above a whisper.

"Hey! That wasn't nice! Trade me, bro!"

"No way!"

"But I thought you said there wasn't anything wrong with Black Widow, and Captain America's my favorite! Come on, man!"

"…No."

"Gimme!"

"NO!"

Arthur didn't even have to look back to know that the twins were now fighting with each other. Peter, however, had been watching and looked up to Arthur.

"I want a toy too!" He demanded. It wasn't a surprise where he learned _that_ tonefrom.

Arthur gave him a look, and Peter shut up immediately.

"Boys, please stop acting like three-year-olds. It's just a silly toy." Francis tried to reason, but he was ignored promptly.

The green-eyed brother took a deep breath to try to contain his sanity. Did Francis really think _asking_ those two landlubbers to do anything worked ever?

The twins wrestling around in the backseat accidentally kicked Arthur in the head which knocked his forehead into Peter's with a crack.

There was a moment of silence before the storm they knew was coming. The boys stopped wrestling, and, instead, instinctively pulled each other closer in an attempt to batten down the hatches.

Peter began to cry as he held his head that was now throbbing. Arthur, rubbing his own forehead as well, all too calmly picked his youngest brother up and placed him in his oldest brother's lap.

Obstacle removed, Arthur's head abruptly jerked to the backseats, and the twins gulped in unison. It was well justified too because not a second later, Arthur lunged into the backseat at his brothers like the kraken upon an unsuspecting ship. The kraken's victims actually had a better lot than Alfred and Matthew. The unfortunate would be dead after the sea beast attacked. The twins, not so much. They would have to continue living in fear of this kraken for, as far as they were concerned, all eternity.

The twins wore identical looks of horror as they split apart to retreat to the opposite corners of the car. Hey, they may have been twins but this was every man for himself here.

Alfred held the Captain America in his hands that he had managed to pry from Mattie as shown by the bite marks on the pale twin's hands. Arthur loomed over his much smaller brother who was frozen is terror yet still unwilling to give up the toy. The green-eyed Pirate King grabbed the insubordinate cabin boy's wrist and ripped the toy from his hand.

If they couldn't share the toy, no one was gonna have it. There would be no brawling –not on his ship! With that, he climbed back to the front seat, opened the door, got out, wound up, and launched the stupid hunk of plastic into the dark, voided distance. Good luck finding it now. Arthur rubbed his hands together, rather satisfied with himself and returned to their 'home.'

After slamming the door shut, he reclined his seat giving a silent order for his crew to _go to sleep_.

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><p>It never took much time for Arthur to fall asleep. He always <em>somehow<em> seemed to exhaust himself after every day –more mentally than physically. However, he did consider himself a moderate to light sleeper.

He was awoken by the sound of the car door being shut. His mind, putting the pieces together, soared painfully out of a REM cycle into consciousness. He sat up to take a quick headcount.

To his left, Peter was curled up in Francis's side while the elder held the younger securely in his arms even in sleep. He turned around in a hopeful attempt at completing his counting at the total of four. Alfred was asleep, however, he was coiled in a tight ball as he shivered from the absence of his twin's warmth. Matthew must have been the culprit of the noise seeing as he was sitting up, wide awake.

His large, lavender-blue eyes darted to meet green as he froze –caught red-handed. However, his hand was not red, but, instead, wrapped around what was unmistakably the plastic Captain America toy Arthur had tried to give flight to hours previous.

"I'm sorry, but I had to go get it," he whispered, trying to catch his breath from wandering outside in the freezing dawn air for who knows how long.

"Why?" Arthur prided himself in being articulate, but, this early in the morning didn't count.

"Well, I felt bad that I was mean to Alfred so I got him his toy back."

"Matthew, you don't have to do anything Alfred tells you to do! He was just being a whiny-"

"No, I mean, I knew that Captain America was his favorite, and I was just egging him on to be nasty. It ended up making you upset too. You brought all that warm food for us, and we don't have much as it is. The least I could do was share with Alfred."

Arthur blinked several times. He knew Matthew was wise beyond his years (and having Alfred as his twin made him seem genius-tier because of how vast the contrast was), but this was a whole new level.

"You couldn't sleep because you felt so guilty so you went outside in the absolutely frigid air to wander around in the dirt so you could get your brat brother a stupid McDonald's toy?"

"…um, yes?"

"You're something else, little brother," he sighed, knowing now that his attempt at disciplining the twins was suffering a similar fate as his previously mentioned feelings of Guilt. There was no way he could take the toy back from them now.

"Thanks, Arthur. And, uh, sorry about kicking you in the head, eh?"

"No problem, little lad," he said, tugging jokingly on his little brother's lone curl. "By the way, this reminds me. We probably need to cut your hair. It's getting long again."

"Really? Francis says my hair looks good long."

"Well, he just said that because that's the way the frog does his own hair."

"Oh, heehee. I guess you're right. I still don't know if I want to cut it though. Maybe people will be able to tell me apart from Al now, eh?"

"Yeah, because there's no way _that_," he pointed to the curl that bobbed clear down to his nose, "is already a dead give-away."

Matthew grabbed his curl shyly.

"You _still_ call me by his name sometimes."

"That's just because whenever one of you is misbehaving, I always assume it's Alfred. That's a compliment to you," Arthur quickly retorted, a rather fine recovery if he did say so himself.

He did have a funny knack for not being able to tell the twins cabin boys apart even though, as they grew older, they were starting to look more and more distinct. Alfred's hair was starting to strawberry while Matthew's seemed to leak a little more toward sunlight, and Alfie's eyes were a crayon blue and Mattie's were a indigo to magenta.

"Heehee. Yup. That sounds about right."

They heard the abovementioned twin-half rustle as they must have forgotten to keep their voices hushed for a moment. The cowlicked twin sleep-scooted over to nuzzle like a puppy into Matthew's side of the bunk –the source of warmth.

"Well, get some more sleep, lad. It might be daylight, but that doesn't mean any human should be up and about at this freakishly early hour."

Matthew gave him a silent nod before pushing the sunshine blond's huddled mass over so he could have room to lie down. Almost on instinct, his other half uncurled from the fetal position he bunched himself in with a smile because his brother-shaped furnace finally returned to him. After Alfred placed a firm grip around his radiator's arm so as to prevent it from escaping again, Matthew was permitted to sleep.

All was well in Francis's, Arthur's, Alfred's, Matthew's, and Peter's cramped and salty world again.

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><p>So yeah. I hope you understood that. This is a modern-day setting, but Arthur views the world as if he's a "pirate king." He doesn't really think that he's a pirate king or anything. The next chapter will be the same thing but from Francis's view.<p>

I have one more chapter ready to go, but, after that, I doubt I'll update any more.

Review and fav as you so desire. I'll PM replies to every review and thank everyone who faved at the beginning of every chapter.

Anyway, thanks for reading.  
>Looking forward to it.<p> 


	2. The Musketeer

**So here's the next chapter -now with a million times more fluff! We get to see through Francis's lense.**

**Thanks to SniperKingSogeking0341 and silverheartlugia2000 for faving!**

**I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himruya Hidakaz.**

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><p>Francis was not a pirate nor was he a king. He was much more gentle than a sea-crusted scoundrel and neither was he someone that could control with an iron fist and rule over his subjects. Although the adventure and glamour of royalty appealed to him, he preferred to think of himself as a Musketeer: a soldier that could think for his own and advise the king. He was a respected figurehead for the people to look up to, yet he secretly had as much blood on his hands as a pirate. Francis was a Musketeer.<p>

Francis entered the restaurant and was immediately karate kicked in the nose by the smell of oriental food. The music playing overhead also brought you to your bearings because nothing said "Chinese Food" like out-of-tune string instruments.

Over all, it was a high-class place. Serfs would never dare set foot in this place. The main attraction was the special seating section where they would fry up the food right in front of you. The chefs were skilled in their craft and even entertained like court jesters –juggling the utensils and flinging shrimp with impressive accuracy.

Francis milled about out in the waiting room as he observed the décor. Like most nobles, he was born with an innate appreciation for the aesthetic. Most of the pictures and art seemed to carry a cat-theme. He hoped that was the extent of the involvement of cats in the restaurant.

"Konnichiwa. Wercome to Wang's Wok. How many are in your group?"

The host stood behind the podium with dark, patient eyes. Francis pulled his gaze from watching the koi swim in the plastic 'pond' and pasted on his practiced air of nobility -a kind, sincere smile that was completed by a confident, weightless stride of someone who was well accustomed to walking in the royal courts as well as sneaking through the castle's secret passages.

"Oh, my girlfriend is already here."

"Werr, then I wirr help you find her seat-"

"Please don't trouble yourself," he smiled white teeth at him again. "I'm sure I can find her. I just hope she didn't think I stood her up. I can be such an idiot sometimes."

The Pirate King, he knew all too well, would always give him a hard time about fabricating stories like these because the Pirate treated a heist like a simple snatch and grab –the less you're noticed, the less people can remember you. However, the Musketeer reasoned that if you got someone to remember you but remembered in a_ positive _way, you were less likely to be remembered as part of a possible theft. They would give you an alibi and vouch for your innocence if the story was good enough. And, as a Musketeer, he had more than enough charisma to pull off any sort of lie. His darling younger brother, despite his purple blood, had no charm what-so-ever, but _c'est la vie_. It was practically unfair to try to compete with the Musketeer's allure anyway.

The man reacted well to the simple yet entrapping banter and returned the comment with a small, knowing smile -allowing Francis to enter the seating area unsupervised and unwatched.

The smell of the food was like ambrosia. He was sure he'd not eaten a full meal in three days. It was his not-so-secret passion that he loved food as he did art. It was an acquired passion after dining at the table of nobles.

The restaurant had just ended a busy dinner hour. Many of the patrons were leaving, paying their checks, popping gas pills, and leaving tip on the edge of the table.

While the waiters and waitresses were busy taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen, Francis, with a deft hand, swept the tips into his pocket. He hit two rows of booths and was about to go swipe the ones in the next, but two of the servers returned. Francis took shelter by loitering in the hallway, pretending to observe the paintings that clung to the walls. Surprisingly, more cats.

He kept watching them out of the corner of his blue eyes as they started to wipe down tables. The man was a teen like himself while the woman was slightly older, maybe young twenties.

"Did you hear on the news? A bunch of kids ran away. There were a lot of them, like, four of them! All brothers. And the oldest was eighteen," she sighed as she sank into the now-clean booth to take a break. "My heart always breaks whenever kids run away. I just hope they're found soon."

"Don't worry! They'll find them! Did you know detective work originated in Korea, daze?"

"Yeah, yeah." She flipped her hair out of her dark, almond eyes. "I just hope you're right. They're not even sure if they ran away or if the oldest kidnapped his younger siblings! Can you imagine that? Can you think of a worse thing?"

"I can, aru. It's called losing your job because your boss doesn't pay you to chat during your shift. Get back to work, aru!" The cranky, long-haired (Man? Woman?) er, _boss_ returned to the kitchen and the two 'talkative' serfs quickly jumped back to cleaning.

Francis grew pale as his head started to spin. The Musketeer didn't know how long it was until he remembered he had to breathe to live, but when he did, he darted through the restaurant and back to the entrance.

"Did you find her?" The host called out, worried for the young man who he assumed was now heartbroken.

"Heh, heh. No. She left. I'm in the doghouse for sure tonight."

He barely had enough composure left to fake a smile and protect his lie before he booked it out of there, not leaving any time for the man to relay his sympathies.

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><p>Francis was all too aware of how his pockets jingled with the stolen change in them, but that didn't compare to how aware he was of his own heartbeat. It was not supposed to be that fast right? No. Probably not. He was sure he was going to faint.<p>

When he finally got to their 'mobile home,' he flung open the car door, startling Peter.

Arthur gave him a glare, the equivalent of a "hello" from him, but he read the expression of his older brother's face and knew that something wasn't right. The Pirate King and the Musketeer couldn't talk about it right now. Not with the younger kids present.

Francis attempted a calm expression, a façade that was already starting to crack faster than a bench a fat guy sat on, as he said, "Hey, boys. Why don't you go play outside for a little while? It's beautiful out there!"

Alfred was way ahead of him as he practically dragged Matthew outside by his heel. For some reason, his pale twin was still tired, but Alfred would accept no excuse. Francis picked Peter up and set him outside the car gently. Instructing him to stick close to Alfred and Matthew. The kid skipped off, oblivious and happily picking his nose.

Francis's smile quickly fell as he slid into the car and closed the door. He could see the cutthroat glaring under his eye patch.

"What did you _do_," Arthur growled. "You realize we can't go anywhere if we don't have any money for gas? And they'll get hungry if we don't-"

Francis shook his head and flung all the money out of his pocket at the scolding brother. Arthur, surprised, began collecting it and counting it like he just opened a treasure chest. After he found the grand total (which wasn't all that grand), he started to do the math of how much gas or food that amount would buy when he caught the other noble's expression.

"What?!" Arthur huffed. As far as the Pirate King was concerned, there was nothing to be upset about. They had the plunder.

"Dad…_might_ have told the police that I kidnapped you all."

Arthur took a second to process this before he exploded. Expletives carpeted the walls and damnations were blown around like shrapnel. Thank goodness the members of the court were out of earshot of the swearing sailor. Someone could have been hurt.

"It doesn't matter. We just need to keep going."

The Pirate King sat back and rubbed the bridge of his nose and dug out a map. After a few minutes of coordinating between his telescope and compass, he sighed.

"Well, we should probably get to a gas station then. There's no time to lose."

Francis matched Arthur with his own sigh, as he dug out the key –entrusted only to the Musketeer. Crossing himself, he attempted to rev the engine.

"Oi! Matthew! Get everyone back in the car! We're leaving!"

Taking after Arthur's own heart (or a more gentle and kind version of Arthur's heart), he managed to get Alfred and Peter into the backseat. The twins held Peter in place because there was no seatbelt, but, considering there was barely enough room for the little boy smashed shoulder-to-shoulder between them, he doubted a seatbelt would have worked any better.

After the third attempt, the car showed signs of life and rumbled in confirmation that it was still functioning. Then they rolled on fumes to the nearest gas station.

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><p>"Arthur! Peter farted! <em>Again<em>!"

Alfred cackled madly. "I am training him in my ways!" Then he high fived the little kid.

Arthur felt like clawing out his eyes. Now he knew why lions ate their young. If Peter evolved into a mini-Alfred clone, he wouldn't be surprised if he found a grey hair within a year.

"Maybe if you wouldn't _throw things at the other cars_, we could roll down the windows."

"I told you! That wasn't me!"

"You can't_ prove_ anything!"

"I don't care who did it, but if someone does it again, I'm throwing you _both_ out the window!"

Francis looked at Arthur with a tired scowl.

"Do we maybe need to pull over and walk around a little?" he condescended. The Musketeer was around for times like this: when the Pirate King was too angry and frustrated to listen to reason.

"Fresh air! Please, Arthur?" Matthew begged, his soft voice sounding funny while he held his nose.

"No, we need to keep going. We'll stop when we need to sleep."

"Are we gonna have ta sleep in the car again?" Alfred whined dramatically, slumping forward and slamming his head into the back of Francis's seat.

"How long is it to Grandma's house anyway?"

"It's still a long way away," Arthur explained. "Why else would we almost never visit her?"

"I'm hungwy!" Peter moaned, mimicking Alfred once more.

Arthur and Francis stiffened. They hoped by some miracle the younger kids would suddenly have a complete loss of appetite. Or, even better, lose the need for food altogether. However, it seemed those wishes were not granted. All the money Francis stole was now burning in the gas tank of their car. Stupid oil prices.

"…We'll get something later."

"How much later?"

"Later every time you ask."

"But we're in the middle of nowhere!" Alfred remarked at the endless sea a rural-ness. "What if we get stranded? What if there's no place to eat anywhere! We'll… we'll… we'll have to eat Matthew!"

"What? Why would we eat _me_?"

"It's for the good of us all." Alfred hugged Peter and angled his eyebrows pitifully. "Would you really doom us to starvation, Mattie?"

Matthew just rolled his eyes. "I'd just go look for food somewhere in the forest or something."

"But I need _meat_! Fine. I'll just eat Peter then. You okay with that, Petey?"

"No!" The boy squeaked, squirming out of Alfred's grasp and scrambling onto Matthew's lap, clinging on to him tightly.

"But Alfred must eat! _Eat_!" The cowlicked twin leaned over and began biting on Peter's shirt while tickling him and making animal-like roars.

Peter shrieked and giggled with laughter as he twisted and kicked to get away from his 'cannibalistic' older brother. Matthew resisted, but, eventually, he couldn't keep out of the fun.

"I'll protect you, Peter!"

Matthew wrapped Peter up in his arms and pulled him out of Alfred's grip.

"Oh no! Mattie's invincible shield! My one weakness!" Alfred mimed hitting an invisible wall. "Absolutely impenetrable! _The fiend_!" He shook his fist at the air.

"Mattie da hewo!" Peter said triumphantly, then he stuck his tongue out at Alfred.

"No! I'm the hero! I'm, uh, I'm trying to _rescue_ you from being trapped with Mattie in the Land of Boring-ness!"

"Don't listen to him, Peter!" Matthew whispered into the boy's ear. "He's trying to trick you! And everyone knows that my land is ten times more awesome than his land!"

Peter giggled at all the silliness and accidently released another smelly bomb.

"Ugh! Treason!" The pale twin coughed and gagged. "I banish thee to the Carnivore of the South!"

Matthew pushed Peter over to Alfred who gave him a high five.

"You are learning well, my young and loyal padiwan!"

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><p>"Sometime you're going to have to teach me to drive," Arthur stated firmly, as he watched the brief blinking of the last round of summer fireflies blur by in between the trees.<p>

"And sometime you're going to have to learn to sleep for a full night. It does you no good to be tired all day. Not to mention that there's a reason it's called 'beauty sleep,'" he teased.

The Pirate King had a hard time going to sleep when anyone else was awake. And, even then, Francis would catch him waking up and checking on everyone to make sure they were all right –although he would deny it up and down if confronted by anyone other than Francis. The King did care deeply for his subjects.

"We don't have the luxury of worrying about looks anymore." Arthur blinked fiercely in an attempt to keep his eyes open.

"If you're going to be that way then you know that you don't have the luxury of getting a license now."

"I asked you to teach me to drive. Those are two separate things."

The Musketeer shook his head. "You are not driving this car until you have a license."

"Are you saying you think I'd be a bad driver?!"

"No. I'm not risking my little brothers' safeties over having a relief driver, black sheep."

The nickname was always an automatic conversation-ender. Arthur turned away from him in a huff and leaned his head against the cold window. The Pirate King hated feeling young. Francis was the only one who could do that to him anymore.

The Musketeer chuckled to himself. He remembered when the Pirate King was as young as the boys sleeping in the backseat – would that have made him the Cabin-Boy Prince back then?

Unsurprisingly, Arthur wasn't a very happy child. He was always begging for attention, but he would deem all the praise worthless the next moment that he made a mistake. He was a young perfectionist. It also took him a rather long time to pronounce his "l's" right, which didn't help with his self-confidence.

One time, for an elementary school play, Arthur was assigned to play the role of the Black Sheep and had to sing the nursery rhyme. Except, when he sang it, it sounded like, "Bwack sheep, bwack sheep, have you any woowl?"

Francis was pretty sure that the teachers chose him for that role on purpose because he sounded absolutely adorable. Arthur, however, thought people were making fun of him. He made such a big deal out of it that the nickname stuck even years after he grew out of the speech impediment, and what good older brother wouldn't capitalize on that? Even now, years later, he considered it a time he failed –and it still wounded him.

* * *

><p>Arthur was asleep when Francis finally decided it was time to surrender to unconsciousness as well. He pulled the car vehicle into a rest stop, parking as far away from the other cars in the lot as possible. And when he started up again the car in the morning, he planned on letting Arthur continue to sleep. The rumbling of the engine only made him stir a moment so the oldest brother gently eased the car back on to the highway.<p>

Peter, like Francis, rose with the sun, but the twins must have shared the same sleep-like-a-log genes. Surprisingly, it was Matthew that was hardest to get to wake, and only Alfred could wake him. That is, whenever Alfred was awake enough himself to do the job. He was a little zombie for a good few hours after he woke up, but then he was back to his loud and cheery self.

Peter was being surprisingly quiet and Alfred was still attempting to mentally enter the world of the living so Arthur didn't wake up until a horn from a passing car sounded. He rubbed his eyes and no doubt cursed himself for sleeping while 'on duty.' Francis just smiled mischievously.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I already told you that you needed sleep, and big brother always knows best."

Arthur groaned as he rolled his neck, flinching slightly at the loud pops.

"Are we gonna eat soon?" Alfred's voice was as soft as it would ever be that day because it was still morning.

Arthur looked to the Musketeer and sighed.

"Yeah. We can pull off, and I go run and grab us something," the Pirate King said, mentally pulling on his eye patch.

"Yay!" Alfred cheered with Peter copying him in an enthusiastic echo.

They pulled off the next exit and found a small town nestled between cornfields. It took them a while of driving before they actually found a place that was far away enough from the restaurant that they could park the car.

The Pirate King readied his cutlass and prepared to board the unfortunate vessel, the mighty and fatty _Burger King_.

The plunder wasn't impressive for there to have been a supposed king aboard. Truly, the only figure of royalty there was the Pirate King, and there was hardly a crew on board from which to steal from.

"That's what happens when it's in boondox," Arthur grumbled as he had only a measly two bags (but probably fourty-thousand Calories) worth of deep-fried pseudo-meat.

"So…that was it?" Alfred asked, still not old enough to read the tension.

"Yes! And you should be freaking _thankful_ that I got you this! You know we don't have a lot of money, Alfred! Stop thinking everything is about you!"

Alfred looked like he had been struck in the gut –pained and angry at the same time. He shrunk back and folded himself in a style that would make a minstrel's accordion proud. Nestled up into the corner of the seat, he leaned against the window.

Normally, when he was upset, he would talk with someone about it. Alfred had no inner monologue. Poor Matthew was forced to be the listener of his rants and whines on the most occasions, and humble Matthew bore it gracefully. However, whenever Alfred was upset, truly upset, he wanted to be alone.

Matthew looked very confused and frightened while Francis narrowed his eyes and fumed. He would talk to Arthur later about this.

He tried to start the car, but it didn't even croak.

He tried again. Nada.

Arthur looked over and they both saw to their horror yet not to their surprise that the meter pointed to the tank being empty. Arthur fell back into his seat and slammed his head against the headrest. Now what?

"Come on. Let's check the engine."

Arthur looked confused. "It's out of gas. It's not an engine problem."

"Just come check with me!" Francis ordered, and Arthur got the hint.

They went around to the front and opened the hood so they would be out of view from the younger kids.

The Musketeer drew his sword and challenged the Pirate King to a duel.

"What?" The Pirate demanded, not yet unsheathing his own weapon.

"You need to apologize to Alfred."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? Ugh, Francis!"

"I'm serious! You hurt his feelings and you need to apologize."

Arthur crossed his arms like he frequently did when trying to ward off a caring emotion. He then drew his cutlass out to hide behind the glint of its steel.

"I will, but I _was right_ though. He does think everything is about-"

The Musketeer struck. "No, you're wrong. He looks up to you, Arthur. He adores you!"

Arthur tisked, as he parried the thrust easily. "He doesn't act like it."

Steel clanged against steel again. "Would you stop acting like a child! Alfred needs a strong older sibling role model."

The Pirate slashed twice to gain ground. "Then why don't _you_ do it for him! You're the oldest, and I'm the one that's stealing from restaurants!"

But the Musketeer blocked both swipes and leaned into his attack, sliding along the steel until their swords locked at the handle guards. "I steal too! But, for some reason or another, he's chosen to take after you. Now, you need to apologize to him before you inflict some actual damage, black sheep."

The Pirate King lost the grip on the weapon, and it was flung out of his hands. In stubborn defeat, the scallywag turned away.

The Musketeer returned his rapier to his hip and wiped the sweat from his brow. "When we decided to leave, you knew that we would be on our own -just us brothers. We wouldn't have any money or any real shelter. All we would have is each other. Don't lose your brother, Arthur."

The Pirate knelt down and slowly brought the sword up from the ground, looking at his emerald-eyed reflection in its blade.

Arthur and Alfred's relationship wasn't exactly full of butterflies and bunnies. They both had head strong, stalwart personalities and frequently butted heads. Francis, being on the sidelines and out of the range of fire, could tell that Alfred really looked up to Arthur. But he also knew that the real reason Arthur was upset was because he couldn't provide for his hungry brothers. He felt like a failure. And now he, no doubt, felt even worse. He knew the two would take a while to make up being the stubborn characters they were, but they would mend what was torn on their own. Eventually. He wasn't sure he could wait for 'eventually' so he was trying to prod Arthur toward 'soon.'

Sliding the cutlass back into the scabbard, the King-side of Arthur decided to accept his defeat but the Pirate-side of him swore secret revenge in the future upon his insubordinate Musketeer for making him look weak. Still, the Pirate King knew this duel was over.

"Fine. But what are we going to do about gas? What about money? What about food?"

"Well…," Francis looked around. "We'll just have to make do with what's here in this town until something comes up."

"That's not a plan."

Francis put a hand on his younger and shorter brother's shoulder. "We don't have much of a choice do we? Don't worry. Big Brother will get us out of this. I said I would, and I will."

Arthur looked up from his feet finally, his eyes younger than normal. For one brief moment, he just wanted to be little again. He just wanted someone to take care of him and make everything all right. However, his eyes hardened as he remembered he had three little brothers that were dependent on him. He didn't have the luxury of hoping others would make things right for him. He couldn't fail them again.

Arthur had nothing to say in reply -neither pessimistically nor optimistically.

The Pirate King returned to his ship, and the Musketeer took his post on the castle wall. The oncoming battles were going to be intense and the impending skirmishes were going to be painful, but they loaded the cannon and cleaned the muskets. Time had laid siege against them so they had to prepare for war.

* * *

><p><strong>So there you have it. That was the last chapter I have written for this in advance. I'm not sure if I will continue it, but I thought I should get it out there. I hope it was easy to follow -especially that end part. <strong>

**Anyway, thanks for reading. As always, fav and review as you so desire.**  
><strong>Looking forward to it!<strong>


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